“You are without a doubt the worst pirate I’ve ever heard of.“

– Norrington
(Pirates of the Caribbean, The Curse of the Black Pearl)

There is very little that is more comical than a tiny, fair-haired, blue-eyed, two year old girl pretending to be a pirate. Her voice is so small and so sweet. . . pirate speak just loses its growl. Nevertheless, Puff persists. She is a pirate, and proud of it. The expression on the above photo is her pirate face, which she maintains throughout all pirate conversation. Which makes the entire thing even more ridiculous. And as if that wasn’t enough humor to get me through the day, T insists that I play along. Not only do I have to talk like a pirate, but I also have to make the face. Its the rule.

So, yeah . . . there has been an awful lot of “ARRRRGH! ME HEARTY” -ing going on in my house lately, and a lot of “Walk the plank, ye scallywag!” shouted at tops-of-lungs while chasing poor baby N around the living room. (Naturally, he is thrilled that T has deemed him worthy of any small amount of her attention, and could care less that she, essentially, is demanding his demise. To her credit, I don’t think she quite gets that part, either.)

My moronic mutt got ahold of our glue bottle (why would a dog go after glue that was on the counter, anyway?!). She chewed the lid off, and the contents spilled all over my kitchen floor (because I really needed something else to keep me busy that day). T was terribly distraught over this, as it meant that she would be unable to complete her art project until we went out and bought more. She let our dog know just what she thought about the whole situation, and has been telling everyone that she crosses paths with “That scurvy dog ate my glue!” How can you not laugh?!

Another silly story:

This exchange took place at the dinner table:

T: Can I have a juice-box, please?
Me: Sure, sweetie. What flavor do you want?
Dad: She doesn’t even know what ‘flavor’ means!
Me: Maybe. . .but she does like to choose Elmo or Grover. . .
T: OH! I want an ELMO juice box!
Me: *gets juice box*
T: *drinks half of the box in one suck and gasps for a breath, looks at her Daddy, and says:*

. . .AAAAAH! THAT’S FLAVOR!

And again:

The first conversation of the morning, as I was getting T dressed for the day. . .